


Untitled.

by ASadBanana



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, I’m terrible with grammar, M/M, So Bear With me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 19:12:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13014330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASadBanana/pseuds/ASadBanana
Summary: Cousland was sad and Sten wondered why.





	Untitled.

“What are you doing?” Sten asked the dark hair man.

They were in front of the windmill. No one was here anymore after the undead were dealt with, the knights returned to their rightful place inside the castle and they were readied for their travel to Denerim, attending the Landsmeet and Cousland, had never looked this sad. And Sten meant it by never. Despite everything that he had learned about the man. About how he got here.

“The library,” Cousland smiled, his gaze so far away, Sten wasn’t certain if the man was even speaking to him. And what an odd way to start a phrase. To the Qunari anyway. But he could smell it. He could smell the scent of blood radiating from Cousland and he noticed the man’s hand was wrapping around a rose, it looked well maintained and Sten remembered sometime he would catch the Warden and Morrigan holding a almost dead rose and brought it back to life. The thorn was undoubtedly cutting into his palm, that was where the blood was oozing out after all.

“You are hurting yourself.” A familiar practice amongst the Qun, but what could a small pain like that accomplish, Sten wondered.

“We used to have a whole section of dreadful, stupidly romance books there.” Cousland completely disregarded him and continued. “And I remember picking up a book, randomly opened a page and looked for the ninth line.” The conversation ended there. Nothing was spoken next. Cousland just sat there, and when the sun finally finished its lazy rise to the top, they both left the place. But the Qunari didn’t fail to notice how the bloody rose was left behind.

He didn’t fail to notice Cousland’s sad smile when Alistair was crowned king. How there seemed to be great distance put between them afterward. He asked Wynne about it, and the same sad smile only confused him more. “It’s better this way.” She said, in a cryptic tone. “Though, I wish it didn’t have to come to this.”

The elf was the one enlightened him. Or to a degree at the very least. “They were in love.” Why was that the cause of such tragic seemed to be pouring down on Cousland, Sten didn’t know.

Sten often caught Cousland looking at his scarred palm, how his finger lightly trace the long wounds, and his lips curled in such a sad way that Sten somehow could feel how much sorrow the man was in.

“You are going to break if you keep keeping everything to yourself.” He confronted the man one day at camp when the confusion irritated him too much. Cousland’s eyes blinked at him but Sten could read through the mask he was putting on and Cousland knew it too.

* * *

 

He never did get an answer and he probably never would, Sten realized that as he stood over the pair, Alistair hugging the warrior so tight, blood painted them like canvas. It was nothing like those peaceful paintings Cousland used to brought back to him. And the King cried. But he didn’t look a bit undignified. His cry carried so much pain and sorrowful that Sten finally realized what Cousland had sacrificed for this... blighted world.

The dead rose laid carefully on the warrior’s chest, his hands draped over it protectively and Alistair looked bewildered when Sten put it there. His eyes only blurred more with clear liquid, he had never looked this old. And Sten found his respect for the King.

“I... I thought he threw it away.” The King whispered under his breath. “I thought I was the only one still clinging desperately onto our.. love.” His hand was shaking. Wound, Sten remembered how the arm that could barely hold onto the shield could hug a man that tight. But it wasn’t tight enough. Cousland still slipped through them all. It was small book, the pages’s arrangement was weird and Sten realized that there was a rose pedal, sticking out, marking a page.

* * *

 

Sten flipped it open when he was on his ship, returning back to his homeland. And he unconsciously counted to nine when his eyes caught a small, fainted underline. And suddenly, he got the answer. ‘ _You told me mornings were the best time to break your own heart._ ’


End file.
